


oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness (and you fill my head with you)

by Ephemeral_Joy



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Julie Molina Loves A Good Adventure, Summer Romance, farm boy luke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephemeral_Joy/pseuds/Ephemeral_Joy
Summary: Alternatively: The Epic Summer Romance of 1895 at Jubilee Lake! - starring Julie Molina and Luke PattersonEach summer, Julie Molina spends her days on the Molina farm of her aunt. This year, Victoria has acquired a new farm hand: the charismatic Luke. When he falls from the attic and scares the life out of her, one could argue their meeting was quite... unorthodox. Perhaps that had been a sign.It should've just been an easy friendship to get through the sweltering days, but alas - he was simply too cute.
Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Comments: 48
Kudos: 153





	oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness (and you fill my head with you)

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the middle of writing a different AU, when @bluefire510 and @blushandbooks dared to mention the idea of "Farm Boy Luke" in my vicinity and I completely short-circuited. So yes, I'm once again on my 19th century bullshit and yes, this is very much a passive aggressive reaction to the cancellation of Anne With An E by situating the story in 1895. Unfortunately, not as extensive with my fashion as the previous Victorian!juke story. 
> 
> Anyway, here's an anachronistic fic about Juke falling in love :)
> 
> edited | not beta'd | T as in Troy? No, T as in Teen Romance, Bitches!!! | title: bloom // the paper kites | tumblr: @lydias--stiles

Her reflection has always intrigued her. It was her, but it also wasn’t, and the longer she looked, the more warped it became. One time, she stared for so long that she didn’t even recognise herself. Tía Victoria called her vain whenever she caught her gazing in a spoon or a window, that men wouldn’t like vanity in a future wife. Julie was sixteen and accepted into Alma University however, so a husband wasn’t something she had to think about for now. It unnerved her. It was 1895! Why would she be interested in some stuffy man that didn’t enjoy conversing with her about radical topics like technology as most would deem her unfit for such discussions. Which was stupid, obviously. Julie was intelligent and she _knew_ it. Going to university on an English scholarship would be enough proof that she could hold her own. 

Alas, the men Victoria has introduced her to, had been… _unpleasant_ to say the least. 

(There was this one young man, Nicholas, who bored her to death with a talk about cufflinks that she abruptly fell asleep. He’d been mortified by her lack of propriety, she had found it quite funny. _Whatever.)_

Her reflection intrigued her as it always changed. No day was ever the same. A pimple emerged and vanished, freckles layering on top of each other as the years went by. Her eyes - a rich brown - were brighter on Tuesdays then on Wednesdays. She didn’t know how that worked, but she knew it to be true from her extensive research.

Sometimes, she pressed her fingers in the glass and pretended to touch her cheek. As if someone else’s fingers (perhaps her mother’s, perhaps the lover in all her novels) were able to graze it. That maybe, in the reality behind the mirror, there was a person loving her the way she dreamt to be loved. 

Was that vain? If it was, she didn’t care.

Ripping her eyes from the mirror with a huff, she tied the blue ribbon into a bow at the back of her head. Her curls were _unmanageable_ during the summertime. All wild and frizzy and always in her face. The ribbon helped somewhat, but it also looked a little silly. Should she start putting her hair up come autumn? When she attended Alma University. A frown crumpled her forehead. It wouldn’t look awful, but she preferred how her hair looked down. Long and (in the winter at least) defined and glossy. Julie tugged on a loose curl with a sigh. Maybe she should start braiding it. Less of a hassle. 

Sunshine caught her eye as it reflected from her window. With a smile, she opened it, letting fresh air pour in. The sweet scent of the peach orchards drifted inside, all her clothes drenched in its aroma. It was the best thing about living with her aunt for the summer. The smell of adventure, all around her and at all times. What would she do today? See if the peaches were ripe? Bake? Maybe she’ll read by the lake? Maybe Carlos would _finally_ stop being such a brat and play a game with her. Maybe Felicity - Flynn, for friends - was free! 

Flynn was her best friend during the summer and pen pals for the remainder of the year. They met at just five years old and they’ve proclaimed to be soul sisters ever since. Julie loved her to death. The girl has pulled a school prank, however, and was now often at school cleaning or doing chores. 

(“Worth it,” Flynn had said upon Julie’s arrival last week. “The bunnies deserved to be free!”) 

Her lazy gaze wandered to the barn. An idea sparked in her mind, fingers gripping the wooden frame at the tantalising thought. She hasn’t sung in awhile, so maybe… 

Her feet ran down the stairs on their own accord, sprinting past a drowsy Carlos munching on toast and an unfazed Victoria, yelling at her to come back by eleven to help with lunch. 

The barn was imposing. Tall, dark wood, a wide entrance that let in the clear light. It was bracketed by wooden fences, serene horses meandering around. Past the barn was the orchards and if she left the grounds and walked a mile, there was the paradisiacal lake. Everything was within reach. Everything was possible during the summertime. 

Like singing. 

Julie didn’t sing for anyone but herself and Flynn. She used to, in public, but then she turned thirteen and someone made the odd comment how it’d woo a man in a couple of years and she completely shut down. Singing wasn’t a party trick nor was she a circus animal performing a skill at the snap of a finger. She loved drowning in music and allowing her emotions to be overwhelmed by it. When she sang, she was safe.

Her steps clicked against the wooden floor covered in dust and hay. 

“Hello?” Nothing. Just her voice and the amazing acoustics. Julie thought for a moment. She wanted to sing something fun. The songs she’d hear in bars whenever she passed them. There was one she has been working on herself, an original, about her mother. Her teeth dug in her lip in excitement. This was her chance!

Decided, Julie sang.

_I try to run  
_ _I grow weary  
_ _I try to walk  
_ _And I grow faint  
_ _Oh, I long to soar  
_ _On the wings like an eagle  
_ _But I look down  
_ _I'm afraid, I'm afraid_

Her voice was loud and bright, zero tremor or hesitance to be found. It was empowering, Julie found, to open up her throat and let the air from her lungs propel her to exude beautiful notes in ways words couldn’t. 

_But you lift me higher  
_ _Out of the fire  
_ _Out of the flames  
_ _I lost the feeling  
_ _But you give me meaning again_

She began to get into it. Stretching her arms like she was on a stage, like those women singing libretto’s in glittering dresses, she held her palms out for the imaginary people in the crowd. And because she could, she spun twice on her axis, a giggle coming with the lyrics. 

_I'm singing revival_

Her voice broke through in her head voice.

 _  
__Revival song!_

And then she belted, feeling the rush of adrenaline and love for the arts course through her veins. For a moment, the sweltering heat didn’t bother her. 

_I try to find you  
_ _Lost my way  
_ _Walk in the darkness  
_ _In search of day  
_ _I followed your footsteps  
_ _To the gates of the city  
_ _I saw your face, oh, I'm not afraid_

Just as she flowed into the next part, a scream echoed from the attic. A body teetered down with a rushing sound onto the ground into a mass of hay. The _thump_ made her jump. Heart hammering a mile an hour, she heard as the stranger groaned (Thank God, the person wasn’t dead!) and muttered a string of curse words. Each one caused her to tread closer, cautious. Just in case, she grabbed the abandoned shovel laying on the ground as a weapon. Who in the world could be hiding in the attic of the Molina barn?! Everyone she knew had their own! 

A dazed mop of brown hair popped up. 

Julie yelped. "Who are you?!"

A boy, no older than eighteen, scrambled upright with haste, his expression shifting into one of awe and confusion. "I- uh, I'm the farm hand. Sorry, miss. I wasn’t-” He gulped, straightening his back as to compose himself. It must’ve been a nasty hit. “You must be Miss Victoria's daughter."

Her chin raised, dignified. "I'm her niece. Why were you sleeping in the barn?"

"Took a break," he shrugged. And then, playful: "Pretty voice, you have."

She flushed red. Gah! She hoped he would've been asleep, _not_ cognisant enough to hear her sing! No one ever heard her sing and now this stranger knew! Mortified, because it certainly hadn’t been her best, she flailed to find a casual pose. Her hands stuffed themselves in the pockets of her apron, awkward. Wonderful. She made an utter fool of herself in mere seconds. Who could blame her though? She never talked to the farm help and certainly not one that fell from the sky and then decided to _flirt_ with her. 

Sensing her discomfort, he wiped the hay from his working shirt and stuck his hand out. His nails were ripped and dirty, palms grey and calloused. He smiled, in a way that was far too charming to be unpractised. "I'm Luke."

Gingerly, she decided to be polite and shook it firmly. Though she was a girl, she wouldn't back down. This was also _her_ ground. "I'm Julie."

"Well, miss Julie," he grinned, "you have the loveliest voice I've ever heard."

A flush creeped up her neck and it wasn’t from the heat. He wasn’t flirting, she reasoned, he was being _nice._ He was the help and it was kind of obligatory. No need to get in over her head by some silly compliment from a boy she didn’t even know. Even if that boy was, objectively, quite attractive. 

But his smile was as sweet as honey. (Bees stung - _no need to get over her head, Julie!)_

"Thank you," she found herself saying, removing her hand from his grasp and pushing it back in her apron. Nodding at the attic, she added: "My apologies. If I had known-”

Luke shook his head, dismissing it with a wave. His casualty was equally as surprising as amusing to her. "No, don't be. I was supposed to be up anyway. Delia would miss me if I’d be gone for too long.” A smirk crawled up his lips. “That cow can’t get enough of me.”

When she didn’t respond to his dumb joke, he lamely added: “I’m sorry I scared ya. Not my intention to fall down like that.”

“You didn’t,” she pressed. Her yelp and his screech wasn’t something anyone should know about. This sleepy town loved gossip all too much. 

"Right," he nodded, amused. "I didn't."

Another chapter of Walt Whitman and the enchanting lake was waiting for her to spend the morning gallivanting, but she kind of wanted to keep talking. It was exciting meeting someone knew! She's grown tired of seeing the same people since birth. For a beat, she wondered if it would be rude to ask if he had gotten any schooling, or where he came from. Who knew, he was a bit older it seemed, maybe he’s gone on travels she could only dream of! 

Digging her heels in the wooden flooring, she decided to take up her tía’s advice for once and brush up on the art of small talk. "Have you worked here for long?"

Luke let the smirk fall for a polite one. "A week. Your aunt found me fixin' up some carriage in town and hired me right then and there."

That surprised her. Victoria didn't trust people so easily, especially strangers she met in sudden encounters! She was either desperate for new help, or he was truly talented at putting the Molina grounds back in her glory days. 

"That's nice," she smiled, trying to find more to say. Perhaps she should make sure he didn't tattle what he heard. "Could you... do me a favour?"

He grinned. "A favour? What do I get in return?"

His implication made her take a step back. It was then that she noticed he wasn’t just attractive. He was _cute_ and seemingly quite strong and not _that much_ older (his smile was too boyish) and she _really_ shouldn't be talking to him. She had to make it quick. 

"A book?", she proposed. "A pie?"

He hummed, pondering. His fingers snapped when he got it. "Another song!"

Julie sighed. Did he not see her embarrassment? Then again, he was the help. Who would he tell? Her aunt wouldn’t start consulting Luke for ways Julie could ‘woo’ potential suitors. He’d hear her sing once again and that would be the end of the deal. Easy. 

"Fine," she relented. "One song. In exchange, I'd like you to not tell anyone you heard me sing. It's my secret and-” An improper huff left her. “-you had to ruin it."

Laughing at her brashness, he exclaimed a "deal!" and that was that. Julie fled the barn, unnerved, and Luke's laugh rang throughout the grounds. Why couldn’t he have picked anything else?! Now she had to spent yet another moment with that stupid boy.

She recounted the story to Flynn later that day, right before supper, with the anger that could level the tantrum of a petulant child. Her friend was humoured, eyes tracking the way Julie paced around the bedroom. Flynn’s was quite different from hers. While Julie only resided at tía for a few months and kept it rather impersonal, Flynn’s was filled with oddities she found in town or in nature. Shiny seashells on the windowsill, a closet overflowing with bold, pink dresses, feathers tacked on the mirror, papers ripped from fashion magazines showcasing the hottest styles of the moment and up her wall. Puffed sleeves, Julie noted during a lull in her speech, was quite the trend. 

When she finished, Flynn all but grinned and said: “A summer romance! I’m all here for it!”

Julie blanked. “What? That is what you got from my words?”  
  
Unimpressed, she began counting fingers. “I got a whole lot of ‘infuriating’ and ‘stupid, green eyes’ and ‘charming smile’-”

“That he _knows_ it’s charming!” Julie sighed, exasperated. It sounded eerily like Victoria. “Not an attractive quality to have!”

“Okay,” Flynn conceded, though the playful glint in her eye told otherwise. “Not a summer romance then. Though I have seen you reading ‘Jane Eyre’ a lot.”

She pursed her lips. “I’ve been reading ‘The Tenant of Wildfell Hall’, if you must know.”

The grimace was instantaneous. “That’s… depressing.”

Julie sagged on the flowery duvet with a pout. “I don’t know what to sing, Flynn. Another song! I can’t embarrass myself more with some silly Christmas or Easter song! And I can’t sing libretto’s.”

“Calm down,” Flynn laughed. “He’s not expecting Jenny Lind. It’s a _farm hand._ Just sing him a lullaby and he’s off your back.” Then her gaze became downright devious. “Unless you _want_ him to be on your back.” 

A pillow shot in her face with a squeal, Julie biting the grin off her face. “You! Are such! A tease!”

“Come on, Jules!”, Flynn exclaimed as she threw the pillow back. “It’s the turn of the century! Live a little! Your father isn’t here, it’s just you and Carlos and miss Victoria that hardly ever bothers you-”

“Ah yes, because my dad will _love_ hearing the gossip that his only daughter went around town with the help.”

Her eyes twitched. “Didn’t you say it was nice to talk to someone new? What if you become friends?”

“Friends?” She paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know him.”

Flynn blinked. “Yes… the definition of making new friends.”

Julie jumped from her bed. “I’m off. You, my bosom friend, are no use tonight.”

After tossing and turning about what song she should sing, she found herself in the barn the next morning at the same time - right as the golden beams began to stretch between the wood and cast light upon the stacks of hay. This time, Luke was already up, scrubbing their carriage with water and soap. He noticed her before she spoke, the green of his irises once again rendering her speechless and leaving her to grasp for any sensical thought. 

(This was silly. This was so, so, so, _silly._ Flynn shouldn’t have said a word, as now she couldn’t think about anything else!) 

When she got close enough, she surprised herself with a tease tumbling from her lips. “Not sleeping, I see?”

He responded well to it though, a grin coming on his own and dropping the sponge in the bucket. “No, miss Julie. Didn’t wanna scare you again and stop you from singing. Speaking of which-” Even from the respectable distance, he reeked of sweat that wafted from him when he stuck his hands in his pockets. “-I think you owe me a song.”

Keeping the comment on her lips about his hygiene, she retorted instead: “You haven’t told anyone?”

A hiss came from between his teeth and dread dropped to her stomach. It has been twenty-four hours and he _already_ tattled it to the masses?! Who knew? The other farm hands? His friends? His- The tip of his tongue stuck out. “Does Delia count?”

She bit back a smile. Alright. He was _that_ kind of jokester. “She doesn’t count, no.” Then, she found a clean spot on a tall heap of hay (she had to be bigger than him; anything to not feel so unnerved by his presence). She crossed her legs, fanned the blue skirt around her and began to sing without asking for permission. 

It was a simple song. One she wrote a few years ago, inspired by her friendship with Flynn. The song entailed trusting one another so deeply that life would simply be too bleak had they not met. She was comfortable singing it, the notes easy and the melody smooth and playful. It wasn’t like yesterday where she pushed her voice’s limits. Even so, whenever she dared to take a look, he had that same wonderment on his face from before. Like he was hearing something (or seeing something) he shouldn’t. His eyes wide, his head slightly tilted, the ends of his lips quirked up in amazement. It was a lot to take in, so she usually kept her eyes in front of her, fixed on the slats of wood. 

When she finished, it took her aback to see the smile being replaced by a frown. “Can I ask why you keep singing a secret, miss Julie?”

She hopped down the heap, ignoring his outstretched hand, and patted the skirt clean. “That’s none of your concern,” she gently replied. “It’s just better that way.”

“But-”, he spit, causing her to look him in the eye again. His stance was one of barely tempered energy, arms tensed and jaw ready to spout words. He swallowed whatever he was going to say and evened his voice. “I _don’t_ think it’s better that way, your voice is amazing. People would pay to sing like that.”

“Please-"

“Miss Julie,” he pressed. “It is truly a shame no one’s hearing you but me.”

“What do you know?”, she snarked. The compliments were getting to her and they really shouldn’t. Who was he to judge what was good and what wasn’t? 

Luke perked up, proud. “I’m a singer myself.”

That took her off-guard. The rough hands and floppy hair didn’t scream opera superstar. “You- you’re a singer?”

“Yeah.” That infuriating smirk bloomed on his lips, taking on a jovial pose. “The best in town.”

She raised her chin. “Prove it.”

“Like I said, the best _in_ town. On Molina grounds, however…” His voice faltered as he gave her a pointed look, Julie averting her gaze at the blatant compliment. She had no clue what to do with herself and the jittery sensation in her stomach. People weren’t usually this overt, especially not with others they met a day ago.

Luke continued with that perpetual bravado. “And I have to play with a band. Me without any instruments isn’t good for the soul.” His hand patted his chest teasingly, Julie rolling her eyes in retaliation. 

“Seems like an excuse to me,” she bounced back. 

His nose scrunched up. “Are you always bark and no bite?”

Her jaw fell slack. Bark and no bite?! She had bite! Just because she didn’t talk smack like he did, or sang in pubs, didn’t mean she wasn’t _adventurous._ Wasn’t she the one holding a shovel yesterday? The urge to prove herself, however, was bigger than that argument. 

Besides, Flynn told her to befriend him, right? 

She crossed her arms. “I was going to ask you to join me at the lake this afternoon, seeing as we could be friends, but I suppose I was wrong. Please, continue polishing the carriage.” A brow quirked, a move she practised in the mirror far too often. “You missed a spot.”

Her strategy was a risk, unsure how he’d react - _if_ he’d react - but she got lucky. Seemingly having pushed the right buttons, she had hardly turned her back when he called out her name. 

“Miss Julie!” His feet stumbled for balance. Was he always this kinetic? “Are you… was that an actual request or?”

Pride swelled in her chest. “Do you know the Jubilee Lake? It’s a mile east from here. Perfect spot during the summer when the heat is unbearable and-” She trailed off. ‘Go swimming’ she wanted to say, but she reckoned swimming with the farm hand unchaperoned wasn’t exactly proper. 

“Yeah,” he smiled, “I’ve been there. But, uh, I don’t think your aunt will let me off early though.”

“You’ll be with me,” she dismissed. “No need to worry.”

All of a sudden, he crossed the barn in large strides until he was right in front of her face. He wasn’t that tall - not like Covington, the broker in town - but right now, it felt like he was looming over her. She cursed her parents for not making her taller. 

“What’s the catch? You wanna be friends, why? Farmer’s daughters-”

“Niece.”

“-don’t acquaint with the help.”

“No catch,” she replied primly. His comment rubbed her the wrong way though. Though he was the help, she never realised he might feel beneath her too. Had she been a brat the previous years for not trying to be kinder to the other help? “I want to make a new friend and you _clearly_ have no problem making jokes. Aren’t you bored of talking to the same people all the time?” Just as he opened his mouth, she added with dignified haste: “And I _do_ have bite! You don’t even _know_ me!” When his teeth bit back a smile at her quip, she kept a straight face and nodded at him. “Does that explain it?”

She knew she officially reeled him in when his head tilted with mischief, eyes glimmering. “Unchaperoned? What will they _think,_ miss Julie?” 

Well then, that hadn’t occurred to her. A part of her wanted to ask if he was always this big of a flirt, but another part knew how to prioritise. Her tone turned cold. _“Should_ I be worried?” 

The wolfish grin crashed. “No! No, I’m not- no.” His hand flew in his hair, anxious, and raked it back. “I was joking. I’m not like that. The twentieth century is upon us.”

A progressive boy that apparently sang and played music. A quick shot of air pushed in her lungs at the thought. Aside from his abysmal humour, there must be another flaw right? She was ready to find out. 

They walked in relative silence. Sometimes he made a comment about the surrounding nature, sometimes she did. He was still in his working clothes, though the equipment belt was gone and the suspenders slackened. She told Victoria a white lie that Luke was chaperoning her into town for an errand, _not_ that he was joining her for a day at the lake, only now the lie laid uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t wrong, right? This was like going with Flynn. Luke was just, well, a _boy._

 _The twentieth century is upon us_ rang in her head. He was right. And that meant she should have the right to have fun with a boy without people churning out lewd gossip.

Jubilee Lake was beautiful as always. It was relatively small, completely shrouded by thick oak trees and overhanging, weeping willows. Bushes flourished with pink and purple flowers, beds of moss kept her snug for long periods of time. A log near the shore was the perfect spot to read and write and muster inspiration. An awed Luke took it all in. 

“When I said I’ve been here, I meant once,” he breathed. “I forgot how quiet it is.”

She plopped down on the log. “Not used to quiet?”

He shook his head. “It’s never quiet.” Just as she wanted to ask what he meant by that, he muttered something about ‘feeling gross’ and flung the shirt from his torso. Julie froze. Her throat went dry as her eyes were stuck on his chest. Broad shoulders, smooth and sunkissed skin, muscles peeking through and shaping his body in ways she hadn’t seen before. How it flexed when he pulled his shoes off. A shiver went down her spine, leaving her utterly flustered at the sight. Too paralysed to even register how completely out of line this was, she missed the way he cannonballed into the lake and, consequently, splashed her wet. 

She squealed, flinching away from the droplets hitting her dress. He burst through the glassy surface, sighing from reprieve of the warmth. Unearthing ‘Song of The Open Road’ from her apron, she was glad to see it wasn’t ruined. Couldn’t he have given her a warning or something?!

(Couldn’t _she_ have stopped looking? Gah!) 

The boy pushed himself horizontal, to the point that he was drifting on his back. Luckily, the water blurred his body to the point that she wouldn’t ogle him anymore like some fool. She’s seen Carlos shirtless before, this should be no different!

“Sorry,” he laughed. “Should’ve told you!”

She sighed. She was the one proposing to be friends; becoming angry in the first hour of that statement would be embarrassing. Instead, she sat back on the log and propped her chin on her hand. “Tell me about yourself, Luke No Last Name.”

Curiosity, as well as her supposed ‘vanity’, never wavered as she aged. Whatever stories he might tell her, would always broaden her imagination, excite her to look at something from a different perspective. It was when she asked the simple question that she realised how long it’s been since she truly acted upon that curious streak of hers. Wasn’t she the child looking for fantasy lands in wardrobes? Daydreaming that she was dancing with a lover through the woods? The push from Flynn should’ve been a sign she’d been too far gone in Adult Land. Grabbing his family name wasn’t quite the same as those elaborate daydreams, but it was a start. She’d work her way up there. 

“Patterson,” he exclaimed. “Though no one calls me by my last name.”

She noted how exotic it sounded in her ears. “You’re from up north.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been in Los Almas for a while.” He submerged himself fully again and swam closer. “What about you? All I know is that you’re Miss Victoria’s niece and that you, for some reason, decided to hide that voice.”

How many times would he remind her of that? Amused, she answered his question. “I’m from Estrella, a province south from here. Me and my brother come here each summer to spend time with my aunt, but I think my father just wants us off his back,” she joked, earning her a rather unflattering snort. Somehow, he made it cute. “I’m starting university here in the fall too.”

Luke whistled, impressed. “University? I stopped going to school at fourteen.”

“How old are you?”

His defined arms wrapped around a slippery boulder, its colours reflecting green and blue in the sunlight. “Asking someone about their age?”, he teased with a wiggle of the brows. When she didn’t react, simply tilting her head, he spit some water from between pursed lips. “Seventeen. Turning eighteen in October. What about you?”

“Seventeen in August.” They were barely a year apart. Physically, _also_ barely, which was really unfortunate. Why did it distract her so? It was just a body! 

Unaware of her turmoil, his lilting tone continued. “Fancy masquerade ball?”

Julie laughed. “Who do you think you’re working for? The king? A peach pie and _maybe_ a new dress - that’s all.”

He matched her grin, eyes tracing her face for a beat and then pushing himself back off the rock. That whooping in her stomach happened again. Biting her lip, hesitant to ask more as prying wasn’t proper, she felt the weight of her book. “Mind if I read out loud?”

His head popped in her direction. “What d’you have?”

She flashed him the cover. “Walt Whitman.”

“You _are_ going to university,” he mocked with an exaggerated eye roll. It should startle her how quickly they’ve become okay rolling eyes and throwing jabs, but it felt natural. Maybe their lack of decorum opened up the door for those stimulating conversations she has lacked before. Luke clearly didn’t care about offending her too much. “All the boys in the pubs constantly talk about that guy.”

“Well, he’s good,” she shrugged, thumbing her way to the right page. A gentle smile framed her lips as she tried to explain what a mastermind Whitman was. “The way he describes love and life and strife… it’s… it’s like he encompasses every emotion in such simple words and phrases. It’s wonderful. And he’s not trying to shock the reader or be grotesque. He’s just saying it like it is. He-” Julie looked up, stunned at what she faced. 

Luke was back at the boulder, hanging onto her lips as if she’d already begun reading the poems. His wet hair stuck in all directions, all of a sudden looking much younger, his green eyes looking impossibly bright in the light of the lake. 

(Jubilee Lake… how fitting.) 

Her smile twitched to stay in place and not remark his position with smack. Her tongue grazed her lower lip as she brought her gaze back to the pages. Luke was a character, alright. Julie read where she left off, never once feeling his burning stare leave her forehead. 

_“Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me,  
_ _Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me._

 _Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,  
_ _It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth._

 _Here a great personal deed has room,  
_ _(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,  
_ _Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.)”_

Whitman was the true start of their friendship. Their day at the lake could’ve been a one off, but it wasn’t. A few days after, she found herself back in the barn asking if he wanted to join her again. And he did want to, happily so. She supposed it was more out of boredom for him, which she couldn’t really fault him for. Delia wasn’t as good of a conversationalist as she was. 

Each trip, she read more of ‘Song of The Open Road’. She never continued without him either. Even if she was curious, she kept it closed on her desk while she counted the days until a not so embarrassingly short time passed. Luke couldn’t start thinking she was _eager._ His ego was big enough as is. 

Sometimes he swam, sometimes he laid on the moss with his eyes shut. She kept her spot on the log as she read at the right cadence, like a song lulling both into a warm, hazy trance. Her voice floated along the sweet summer air, blending with the aroma of blossoms and clover. 

At the start of July, she finished the book and mustered the courage to sit next to him on the moss. She wouldn’t lay down though. He hasn’t tried anything, like he promised, but she wasn’t a dumb kid either. Vigilance has been instilled into her by her beloved mother, even on deathbed. “Don’t give your right arm unless you want to,” Rose often said. She was thankful her advice had use, as most of her mom has washed away like perfume in a rainstorm. 

(Her mother, to Julie, was like an etching in metal. At first: fresh, but after while, weathered and fuzzy. Each year, it became less comprehensible. Words of wisdom were like gems then, as those would never fade. Perhaps that was why she would be studying English. A stamp in time, a way to maintain a legacy. Julie Molina was here and the world shall know of it.)

Julie told Luke that too. After Whitman, they began to talk. She lamented about her obnoxious brother and her well-meaning father and the lovable Flynn and after, flowed into a spiel about the ‘stamp in time’, which he wholeheartedly agreed with. 

“I wanna do that too,” he said, arms outstretched towards the blue sky. “Not like our boy Whitman, but in my own way. Music or song or telling stories. Or all at once. I don’t know. I’d hate it if I died and no one would remember me.”

Her foot nudged his. “I still haven’t heard you sing.”

“Miss Julie,” he sang. It was silly, but she heard how it held a strong undercurrent. A tenor, melodious and steady. She was lucky his eyes were closed, unable to fight the blush coming on her cheeks and a goofy grin stuck on her lips. Just in case, she turned her face to the water. Her long, wild hair was finally functional.

“Very funny,” she trailed sardonically. “All that macho confidence and nowhere to put it.”

He smacked his lips, challenging her with an arrogant sigh. “One day, miss Julie, you’re going to hear me sing and be blown away by it.” An eye opened, mirth and her blush reflected within. “May even fall in love if you don’t watch out.”

“Are you always a flirt?”

His nod was grave. “Massively.”

More days passed. She found out his best friends were Alex and Reggie, the first working in a pub and the latter in a hostel. She learned that he played the guitar and was kept safe in the pub, that he played there whenever he could, that he wrote his own songs, that he fled from Carámbano, a northern province, to live an authentic life, one unbridled by his parents’ wishes. She figured his smile looked brighter when the sunlight hit it just right, that his profile was admirable, that his jaw was begging to be caressed, that his eyes held a sparkle of golden. It was mid-July when the obtrusive dream of kissing Luke rattled her mind. What a traitor, those dreams of hers. All that was hidden during the day, dared to show its face at night.

Julie didn’t like Luke. She did not. He simply had dashing features, of which his charming smile often left her speechless. But she didn’t like him. How silly would that be, liking the first guy that gave her a little bit of earnest attention. Julie didn’t like him. She really didn’t. 

It was hard to keep the daydreams at bay though. At breakfast, she wondered if he was awake. At lunch, she thought about sneaking up on him in the barn. At supper, the sudden urge to ask him if he wanted to watch the stars with her got caught in her throat. 

She asked him if he liked the stars the day after it first happened. 

“I do,” he mumbled, debating whether to go swim or not. “D’you know anything about astronomy?”  
  
“Not really,” she shrugged. It was excruciatingly hot today, the heat beating down on their faces and leaving them red and drenched in sweat. The foliage wasn’t enough to cool them down. Jubilee Lake looked enticing; she knew that if she jumped in, she wouldn’t feel like a pastry in the oven. But _with_ Luke… 

Luke groaned. “This bloody heat. Nope. I’m going in.” In one swift motion, he pulled his shoes and shirt off (thank God he never removed his trousers) and dove in. By now, the novelty of seeing him like that has worn off, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like it. If Luke had no issue parading his muscles in front of her nose, then _she_ shouldn’t feel guilty for looking. 

(So what if she had to swallow down saliva when he pulled himself up on the shore and his skin glistened from water and his muscles stretched and bulged. So what. She didn’t like him.) 

She was jealous, desperate to rid herself from the suffocating heat too. Argh! Would it be so scandalous if she _did_ go in? Her dress was sturdy enough and she wore a chemise beneath it. It wasn’t like was encumbered by a corset or stuffy hairstyles yet - now was her chance!

Luke caught the way she was untying her shoelaces. “Dippin’ your feet in?”

She made a face. “I’m _going_ in. You’re right. It’s too hot today.”

His expression froze in something she could only describe as panic. “You- you’re going in? But-”

“My God!”, she yelled, indignified. Her face was bright red from the mere implication. “Who do you think I am? _With_ my dress on!”

It didn’t change the look on his face and then, a beat later, dunked himself under water. Julie rolled her eyes. If he wanted to be awkward about it, be her guest. Wasn’t _he_ the one claiming to be a ‘flirt’? She knew it was all for show! 

Rolling off her stockings, she stuffed them in one of her boots and dropped into the cool water with a relieved sigh. _Finally._ Her green dress weighed her down a little, but she wouldn’t start drowning. She swam over to him with a giggle, the foolish boy still unable to look at her. 

“Am I that heinous?”, she joked. 

He whirled around, eyes locked and exasperated. “I’m _trying_ to be a gentleman!”

In retaliation, she splashed his face full. It did the trick, that playful smirk of his calling for a competitive game of Water Fight. (“All’s fair in love and war!”, he roared, right before he pushed a load of water in her direction.) For minutes straights, all they did was yell and splash and roughhouse the other until they gasped for air. He didn’t hold back and neither did she. 

Her fingers curled into the crown of his head as she plunged him beneath the surface. Just as she thought sweet victory was on her lips (both were quickly tired), Julie yelped at the feeling of fish grazing her knees. Or no: Luke’s _hands._ Completely thrown off-guard, he took his opportunity and tightened his hold around her legs, propelling himself upwards and then, with all his might, spearing her in the air. An adrenaline-filled squeal bellowed from her lips, stomach whooping from the lack of gravity, and had the air knocked out of her as she hit the water again. His triumphant laugh was heard when she emerged again sputtering.

Well then. Julie wasn’t sure what to focus on. The sensation of his fingers on her skin or the fact that he launched her in the sky like it was nothing. It burned deep inside of her, the fantasy of caressing his strong arms requiring a stronger reaction than just a simple blush. He wasn’t helping subside it either, swimming towards her heaving and with flushed cheeks.

“You,” he panted, “make a good opponent.”

Her hands hopelessly tried to comb the curls from her face. It must look like a wet rat’s nest. “All is fair, you said,” she reasoned. “And I knew you wouldn’t play soft cause I’m a girl.”

All of a sudden, his warm thumbs brushed against her cheeks as he helped her with her hair. Luke was unbelievably close, their chests (his _bare_ chest - God, what in the world was happening to her?) inches away. Her breath hitched when his gentle touch tugged on her lip. It was to move a lock, but still. 

His palms instantly retracted. “Sorry, you- I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s-” She sighed, becoming tired of keeping herself upright in the water. Swimming a few meters, she found shallower water to steady her footing. “-it’s fine.” Her hammering heart betrayed her. It _wasn’t_ fine. Why couldn’t he just be a friend? Why did her dreams have to be him and only him? 

Julie forced herself to continue. “You just surprised me. I-” And then the truth tumbled out. “I didn’t mind.”

Luke got to the shallower part as well, uncertain. “You didn’t?”

“No,” she whispered, all too aware of the way her dress clung to her body. The way he looked at her made her want to reach out and ask him to do it again. “I didn’t.”

That night, she unabashedly dreamed of kissing Luke in Jubilee Lake. She had no idea how to kiss, but she knew from her romance novels it was the best thing in the entire world. Her dream imagined it to be warm and gentle and safe, though exciting and passionate too. She woke up curled on her side with the biggest grin on her face. Digging her nose into her pillow to avoid the harsh sunlight from blinding her, the horror of the situation settled in a beat later. 

Crap. This was not supposed to happen. Luke was her friend. She couldn’t suddenly start ignoring him without a proper reason, but she also had no clue how to look him in the eye and not think about her dream.

Afternoons at the lake were exchanged for exploring the Molina grounds. She was glad Luke also felt like they outgrew the lake and they instead began wandering the fields far beyond the house or the barn. A wilder patch of meadow, the ripened peaches in the orchard, a gaggle of trees that would be perfect to build a fort or tie a hammock. They climbed the branches until the horizon stretched further then their eyes could see. 

It was when she threw him a large branch and held one of her own, yelling “En garde!”, that she knew a friendship like this was far easier than entertaining her silly crush on him. Playfighting with Luke in the tall grass of the meadow was all she needed. Wood chips flung past their faces during the heated match. 

“Fencing too, miss Julie?!”, he laughed, ducking from the sharp jab of her stick. 

“No!” Deflecting an attack, she tried to spear again. Her hair was once more being a nuisance. “I have a _brother,_ remember!”

Luke barrelled forward before her last words were said, jostling her body as he grabbed onto her waist and yanked the stick from her hand. His grin was illegal. 

“I win,” he whispered, tapping his stick against her side. 

Julie harrumphed. No way she was letting this stupid boy that erupted stupid butterflies in her stomach _win._ Her jaw clenched, the heel of her foot slamming into his calf with the advantage of surprise. Her sneak attack made him collapse on the ground with a groan - though she didn’t count for his grip to _tighten_ instead of loosen. All of a sudden, Julie lurched down with him, laying on his chest and her leg hooked around his. 

They froze, both staring at each other wide-eyed and awed. Slowly but assuredly, she patted his chest with poorly concealed anticipation. _“I_ win,” she uttered. His heart beat so fast beneath her warm fingers, a part of her hoping it was because of her. He might feel her skin pulsating too, from the way he gripped her waist and the fabric did nothing to dilute the touch. 

“You, uh,” Julie stumbled her words through a couple of vowels. “You can let me go now.”

His fingers snapped open like that, Julie rolling down next to him with a huff. Why did she always suggest to _fight?_ Couldn’t she pick something less heated and intense? She didn’t even care that she was laying down, too stunned by the feeling of her body pressed against his. It rippled her skin in funny ways, that tug behind her navel now confirming what she thought. His enigmatic spirit was something she wanted to be close with. Really close with. 

Luke puffed. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

Her hand curled around a wildflower and plucked it. “My mother. She taught me self defence.”

He hummed. “She’s also back in Estrella?”

“She’s..." Spit it out! "Dead.”

The loaded pause and pitying stare never came. Instead, it was the usual condolences. “Oh. My apologies, miss Julie.”

“It’s alright,” she said, though sometimes it really wasn’t. She knew death was normal, that some died earlier then expected. Most people she knew didn’t have both their biological parents. But Rose Molina had also been her best friend. A doting mother and a friend connected by Love and Soul. “It’s been years.”

His tongue clicked, jovial. “My folks _think_ I’m dead, so.”

“They do?”

Grabbing a lump of grass, he threw it aimlessly at his side. Though his tone wasn’t, the action held a hint of anger. “I ran away without a word. Became a ghost.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wishing to have the courage to touch him again. 

“It’s alright.” His face turned to look at her and winked. “It’s been years.”

Almost without realising, touch became commonplace. A hand on the small of her back, her fingers clutching his shoulder, a nudge, a flick against the chin or cheek. Or - if he really wanted to whip her emotions into a frenzy - he’d tug on her skirt to get her close. It was so childish, but whenever he did it… 

One time, as she was reading aloud by the field of wheat, he commented on how small her hands were. Julie rolled her eyes and said that her hands were perfectly normal. With a featherlight touch, his calloused fingers grasped onto her wrist and placed his palm onto hers. Her book fell on her stomach, surprised. A chuckle left her lips as he stretched his hand and looked abnormally large. How his were scarred and worn, yet somehow looked perfect. Giddy, she watched as their hands shifted, fingers overlapping and then, carefully, intertwining. Sparks went up her arm in delight. 

What if Luke thought about her too sometimes? Dreamed about her? Was it silly to hope for that? Was she a fool for wishing this was more? In any other situation, she’d believe this was his move at courting. Luke and her were so rooted in friendship however (and the fact that their status drove an inevitable wedge), that it seemed impossible. Farcical, even. 

Their tangled hands dropped on the ground, his thumb stroking her soft skin as she continued reading. For now, she’d let herself live in the farce. For now, she wanted to believe that the raging flirt was being honest. When his other hand joined the mess, clasping them together on his knee. He didn’t let go when the chapter was finished nor did she try to pull away. They stayed in amicable waves of silence and quiet conversation until the lowering sun urged her to go home. 

“Wash up, mija,” Victoria said as Julie rushed inside, just as she placed the curry on the table. Carlos was impatiently waiting to scarf it down in one go. “You always look like you were caught in a storm.”

Luke was the eye of a summer storm and she was gladly caught in his gaze each time their eyes met. Julie didn’t say that out loud, but the daydream let a silly smile grow on her cheeks as she ate. She and him in the rain, him holding her waist and twirling her around and kissing. If tía saw the blush, she didn’t point it out. 

Under the beautiful peach orchards, Julie read from her well-loved Peter Pan copy as Luke laid next to her. His eyes were closed, though she knew he was awake from that perpetual hum rumbling in his chest. It was as if he was always singing, always coming up with a new tune for a song he'd inevitably try in the pubs of town.

(“I'll take you there some day," he said to her a few weeks ago when she bored and he was chopping wood. After every sentence he puffed and the axe came down with a thud.

Looking up from her doodle of a flower, she gave him an excited grin. “Really?! I've been dying to hear you sing.”

Luke froze when she uttered that, gaze meeting hers. "You have?" His eyes held something more in that moment. They were greener and wider and like the world didn't look down on him. He was just Luke then, and he allowed her to see that. It left her breathless.)

Julie kept reading. _"She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner."_ Pausing, she added: "I have one of those."

"Hm?"

"Those boxes within a box,” she explained. “They're little wooden dolls."

He smirked, one eye cracking open. "You still play with dolls?"

Swatting him with the book, she gave him a mocking glare. "They're decoration, you dork."

His intent gaze flickered from the curls dancing around her shoulders, to her eyes and lips. Her heart stopped. “Huh,” he mused. 

“What?”, she whispered. 

Luke shrugged, like he knew something she didn't, and shut the eye again. “Just that, you too miss Molina, have a sweet mocking mouth.”

_Kiss me. Please, kiss me._

That night, Julie was restless. The Luke in her dreams let his hands wander to places they shouldn’t be, kissed her until there was no air in her lungs left, drowned her heart with adoration. It awoke her in a sweat, frustrated by the heat stinging her abdomen and hands scrubbing her forehead to remove the image. Her fantasies have gone beyond her expectations. Her flustered lips involuntarily gasped his name. 

Her mind in knots, she went to Flynn hours later. Though her dear friend has told her to not come, as she was preparing her birthday present (few days left!), she needed her advice. One look at her face, however, and Flynn knew what was up. Julie would admonish the smirk if she wasn’t so rattled. 

“Try it out,” Flynn proposed. “See what he does.”

Her eyes widened. “Me? _I_ should try and kiss him?”

Her friend laughed, braids tickling her cheeks. “Why not? That boy is clearly waiting for you to give him a sign. Has he done anything?”

“No! He’s-” He’s played with her hair and hands and smiled sweetly and always found a way to flirt. Oh God. Had that been his sign? She faltered. “He… may… have given signs. But he hasn’t asked to court me or anything.”

Flynn sprung upright from her bed as if to give a grand speech. “This is not about courting, Jules! This is about having _fun!_ You’ll still be the same smart and strong woman like before if you kiss him! Don’t you wanna find out how it feels?!”

Her eyes narrowed, intrigued, and stood up as well. “Have _you_ done it before, Flynn?”

The girl’s jaw snapped shut, bashful, causing Julie to squeal and reach for her hands. “Who is it?! Do I know him? Have I met him?”

“He works in town,” she whispered, a shy smile gracing her features. “He’s a little older - nineteen - and took me to a coffee house after he chatted with me outside Nina’s atelier.”

“A coffee house?”, Julie gawked. Women only got in there if chaperoned by a man and they often went against it. ‘Difficult topics’ they said, too hard for them to understand. Though Julie enjoyed a soirée, she has always envied the establishments. “Is he into politics? An artist?”

“No, he just likes babbling,” she chuckled. “He’s the only one that makes Felicity _not_ sound like a stuffy name.”

Mischief creeped up her neck, biting down on her lip with excitement. “How did it feel? To kiss? When did he do it? I can’t imagine inside…”

Flynn’s voice was barely audible. “Outside the coffee house, when no one was looking. It’s… nice. Warm. It just makes you feel happy. It was short though, not like those big, passionate kisses from the novels.”

Julie nodded slowly. Warm, nice, happy. She _already_ felt warm, nice and happy when he was around her. When she thought of him. She’d been sweating when she dreamed of him. Would the earth shatter if they kissed? Would flowers bloom between her ribs? Would time stand still? Flynn, all too knowing of Julie’s tendency to daydream, snapped her fingers in front of her face. 

She wiggled her brows. “You have it _bad,_ girl. Why don’t you catch him now?”

“I’ve already seen him three days in a row,” Julie pouted. “I don’t want to seem eager.”

“But you are,” Flynn deadpanned. “And I bet he is too.” 

“Are you seeing Coffee House Guy again?”

“Who knows. Hopefully. You’re deflecting,” her friend pointed out, jabbing her thumb at her window as if to say _go kiss his face off right this instant!_

She sulked. “I know.”

Flynn’s hands pressed down on her shoulders. “You’ll be living in the residencies in September. If it doesn’t work out, you only have to avoid him for less than a month.”

Julie grimaced. Avoiding Luke after hours of companionship felt like a crime. “With a broken heart.”

“And then you’ll meet some intelligent English major guy by October,” went Flynn on, unperturbed. “You’ll live.”

Her nose wrinkled in annoyance. “You’re extra pushy today.”

The flashing grin showed all her teeth, pulling Julie into a hug. “You, my loveliest friend, are welcome.”

Nerves overwhelmed her mind and body as she made the dreadful trek towards the barn. Candlelight illuminated the slats of wood from inside out, a golden hue like a single star in the inky night sky. All day, she had been contemplating making a move. It took a stern pep talk in the mirror after supper that propelled her out the door. 

Her clammy hands wiped against her mauve dress. Just look for a sign, she reminded herself. Look for anything that showed he felt the same way. 

(What _did_ she feel anyway? God, her emotions were a mess. She just adored being around him; could it really be that simple?) 

She wished there was a door she could knock on, something that wouldn't immediately give her away. Alas, her vulnerable self stood open in the large entrance - face to face with a shirtless Luke. 

Or rather: face to back. He was washing the grime from his skin. Julie's breath stuttered, her dream resurging with a jolt at the thought of trailing her fingers down the muscles and freckles and-

He abruptly turned around and let out a shout from surprise. Julie squeaked, slapping a hand over her eyes. 

“Sorry! I just came in, if I knew-!”

“It's- it's fine!” His stammer caused her heart to flutter. Since when did he get bashful around her? The rustle of cloth was heard. “You can, ah, look again.”

She peered through her fingers, confirming he was indeed decent again. Maybe it felt so intimate because they were in the barn, not the lake where it was normal to swim. 

Her nerves got the better of her. It was night and he was Luke and she just Julie and this was a horrible idea. "I won't keep you. You must be tired from the day, I'll-" 

“No!”, he rushed out, taking steps towards her. Her skin buzzed the closer he got, the tug to give into the energy between them unbearable. A hand brushed the back of his neck. “Sleeping can wait. What did you wanna say?”

Her throat dried up. _I wanted to kiss you._ His expectant eyes, warm and glimmering in the light, weren't helping either.

When she didn't respond, he nodded at her hair. “I like the scarf.”

Was he trying to kill her? She stole a pretty piece of pink silk from tía's closet and tied her hair back as if it were a peasant scarf. The only reason she did it was for him to take note. Now that he did, she had no clue how to react. 

“Thank you,” she muttered on instinct. The longer she behaved like a freak, the worse this would get. Mustering a safe topic, she closed the odd space that was left and asked: “You can choose the next book. Dickens or Keats?”

“Which one can I mock the most?”, he joked. 

“Why is that important?” 

He gave her a pointed look, as if she should know the answer. "To make you laugh!" 

Julie froze. Was that why he always goofed around? To make her laugh? "What?" 

His bright smile chuckled in disbelief. He took another step, close enough to grab her hand. “You have the most beautiful laugh in all of Los Almas, miss Julie.”

If she were to ever kiss this boy with his stupidly amazing compliments, that detail had to change. “Please stop calling me that,” she pleaded. “It's Julie. Jules, preferably.”

“Jules?” He looked awed when he tasted the name. It tickled her ear when he did, her nickname sounding so angelic on his tongue. 

All propriety has flown out the window. “Yes. For people that- that I'm… close with.”

His eyes flickered down her body back up to her ear, leaving her warm all over. It took everything to not bridge the gap and relieve her from her misery. 

Luke got timid. "Close, huh?" 

"Aren't we?" 

His nod was quick. "We do. We have an interesting, little relationship…" And then, far too adorable: _"Jules."_

The tug snapped and yanked her into his bubble, jostling the boy into a tight hug. The beam on her lips pressed into his shoulder, him undoubtedly feeling it when his arms circled around her waist and kept her firmly against him. 

Her hands slid to his shoulders, eyes shining in delight at his words. _Relationship._ _Jules._ A reciprocated hug. It wasn't a kiss, sure, but she had time, right? She had-

Three calloused fingers caressed her cheek, softer than he had ever done. Her breath hitched, watching in awe as he leaned in until all she could see was the glimmering green and his shy smile. Their gazes sunk to each other’s parted lips, irresistible. A thumb brushed her lower lip, just like that moment in the lake. _This_ was her sign. 

The other hand trailed along her arm as he whispered: "Can I kiss you, Julie?"

Emboldened by the fire blazing in her heart, she uttered back: "Can _I_ kiss _you?”_

He laughed, nodding, all of a sudden his warm lips on hers. Julie gasped. She steadied herself by weaving her hands up his neck into his hair. His hands slipped down to her hips, pulling her close. This feeling, his smile she adored so much kissing her, was better than anything she's felt before.

Kissing was like Flynn said: warm and nice and happy. But then _more._ It was that rumble in his chest reverberating in hers, the hold on her hips tightening, what happened when she pressed her lips harder and tasted lemon tea. Unbridled bliss coursed through her veins. 

Her hazy mind cleared any doubts she had before. Julie was infatuated with Luke. 

The boy pulled back, her lips chasing after him when he did. “I've been-” A pant. Another kiss. “-wanting to do that for so long.”

“Long?” She giggled. “A month?” 

“That's long, Julie.” His wolfish grin that made her shiver, added: “It usually takes me an hour to woo a lady.”

The urge to kiss again was tempting. It only took a few minutes for her to realise how addictive it was. Each touch felt like a spark adding oxygen to the flame in her heart, burning brighter and bigger. Her nail went down the back of his neck, watching in wonder as his eyes closed at the sensation with a sigh. This was new. This was uncharted territory. The desire to explore with Luke got her on her tippy toes and press a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“Then I guess I was worth the wait?”, she whispered. 

Luke stared at her in a daze, clumsily finding the balance he somehow lost. “Yeah,” he breathed. “More than worth it.”

What happened next was the romance Julie thought she could only ever dream of. Granted, it was in secret and they weren’t officially courting, but did any of that matter when she was floating on a pink, lovesick cloud? 

(It did. Those worries, however, were designated for the moment the leaves turned yellow. For now, the lush green trees would shroud her conscience.) 

Each morning, Julie put on a little extra lip balm (mixed with red berries, for a hint of colour) and snuck to the barn. “To check for eggs in the chicken coop,” she always said. It wasn’t an entire lie. She did look for eggs… after she kissed Luke. The excitable boy would pull her into hidden corner of the barn and kiss her until her knees buckled from euphoria. He was always warm and soft and comforting, like she could hide between his broad arms from all danger. She got more confident too, finding new ways to hold him. To kiss him. Whenever his tongue grazed her teeth, her eyes rolled back in delight and made her do the same. A French kiss, she later deduced, and figured that the French were doing it right all along. 

For her birthday, he peppered each part of her face with tickling kisses, her laugh muffled by thick hay surrounding them. The best part was when he twirled her around, her skirt flaring out and hair dancing, and he told her she was the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. 

“You’re quite dashing yourself,” she then said, earning her the toothiest grin ever. 

They found their way to the orchards again and spent the afternoons in soft conversations with her head on his chest and his fingers grazing her back. Reading wasn’t necessary to break the previous tension; all she needed was the steady thud of his heartbeat. To her surprise, it was melodic as well. She has yet to hear him properly sing, but she knew he’d be stellar. Everything about him was. 

Julie was in a constant whimsy. Smiling and giggling and each jab becoming a flirtatious tease, matching his attitude with surprising fervour. It took him aback sometimes, when she got so forward that his cheeks turned scarlet. Luke kissed her a little harder then, open-mouthed and hands flat against her back, her arched into him. 

During one of their orchard trips, their mouths sticky from peaches, she propped her chin on his chest and whispered: “When will I finally hear you sing? Instruments and all?”

Luke craned his neck to look at her, reaching up to brush his lips against her forehead. “I want to, but it would be at a pub. Not proper for a girl.”

She scoffed. “Can’t I decide what’s proper and what’s not?”

“Yes…” He trailed, unsure. “I’m just sayin’ what people will think.”

That was something she preferred not to linger on. The disappointment of Victoria, the anger of her father, the scorn of the people in Los Almas. If it got out she and Luke were interested in each other, they’d all assume the worst and ridicule her. Or worse: call her a whore and claim her as sinful. She knew going behind everyone’s back (except for her encouraging best friend Flynn) wasn't what she has been taught her entire life, but no one told her boys like Luke existed. No one told her she could feel this way.

It was during those anxious spiels of thought that she wondered what her mother would say. Rose was ahead of her time, always advocating for Julie to do and be more; more than a simple housewife. Whether that meant an excitable hobby or university, all Rose wanted was for Julie to not be frozen in place by what others expected. Luke wasn’t an ‘excitable hobby’ in the slightest, but she found it a close enough similarity to justify her actions. 

“I don’t care about that,” she pressed. “I _want_ to hear you sing, but since you’re too much of a wuss to do it here…”

He grinned at the jab, snatching her into a tickling attack across her sides that left her red-faced and aching from laughter. He was relentless. Each squirm was retaliated with more spidery fingers. 

Her voice was high-pitched. “Luke! White flag!”

The boy hovered over her, cupping his ear. “Hm, what was that?”

“White flag,” she giggled. “But I’m still joining you. When is the next time you’ll sing?”

A sigh escaped him, brushing a strand from her cheek. “Tomorrow. Are you sure, Julie?”

She sat up straight with a nod, Luke following suit. Their noses nudged. It was impossible to imagine a time she wasn’t so close to him. It only felt natural. 

“Okay…” His eyes tracked down her body in a way that made her stomach somersault. “A dress like that won’t do though. They won’t let you in if they think you’re a school girl.”

“I think Flynn can lend me one of her dresses. She has all the new styles.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You won’t get to tickle me in a corset, Luke.”

He hummed, heavy-lidded. Whenever he had that expression on his face, she felt like the most important person in the universe. “I look forward to it.”

They heard the bar before they saw it. Raucous laughter and music blaring from the streets as they approached the cobblestoned frontage of Georgie’s Tavern. Inside, it was alive with yellow light and dancing shadows. Julie glanced at her attire. The hem of the navy skirt was dropped, a corset to match and a billowy blouse that showed off her shoulders and collarbones. It was quite the change from her pastel day dresses, something the boy next to her noticed as well. Luke hasn’t stopped looking at her the second she found him. He’d been waiting for her, hidden behind a large oak tree, right outside the Molina grounds. His cute face had fallen slack at the sight of hers, which simply doubled the affection swelling in her chest.

Her escape was absolutely enthralling. Here Julie was, dressed like a woman from the big city with her secret lover, about to see him perform in a pub. A thrill rippled her skin, a grin crawling on her face as he turned the doorhandle. This was it. A night of freedom. 

The music became even louder as they stepped inside, hit with a wall of sound and sweat and stench and liquor. Luke’s hand slipped around her waist, keeping her tucked in his side. A move that would seem scandalous in daylight and by high society, was normal now. These were real people with their own real problems, ones that wouldn’t bother to question their relationship.

“Alex!”, he bellowed, waving at a blonde man behind the bar. He was tall and tanned, the shell of his ear lined with silver earrings, the front of his shirt stained with alcohol. Despite all that, he seemed harmless. The smile he wore was boyish and reserved, out of place amongst the rowdy drunkards. 

Luke slapped his hand on the bartop. “This is Julie!”

The blonde’s eyes widened. “You- how did you get away?"

No formalities, no speaking with two words. Had she really been so sheltered all those years in Estrella? “I snuck out,” she confessed with a blush. “Keep that to yourself!”

Luke jokingly reached over and zipped Alex’ mouth shut, throwing away the key. His friend, unimpressed, nodded to his left. “Reggie’s playing.” 

“Nice to meet you, Alex,” Julie said. Just cause they were rougher around the edges, didn’t mean she had to be impolite. It paid off, him repeating the sentiment with a grin. 

They swerved past troops of people as they got deeper into the tavern towards the stage. Her gaze moved across the rambunctious crowd. Burly men around hunched over tables downing beer that was more hop than alcohol, giggly maidens on young men’s laps, the traditional band playing the strings expertly. People stomping the floor to match the beat, yelling lines of songs only they knew of.

This was where Luke spend his free nights? She almost found it hard to connect the two identities. If he wasn’t so overt with her from the get-go, she would’ve had whiplash. 

Luke kissed her temple. “Wanna dance? Won’t be on for a few more songs.”

How could she deny a dance with her boyfriend? This might be her only shot. The music, enticing Spanish guitar and smooth drums, flowed into a different, popular tune. “You know the moves to the music?”

He smirked and dragged her to a spot next to the other dancers. “Doubting my skills?”

“Yes,” she teased. He rolled his eyes, though the smile was stuck on his lips. 

Every song had its own dance or traditional steps, with these in particular being wilder with hooked arms and looping around one another. She has seen it many times on the town squares of Estrella during fairs and carnivals, having practised in secret in her bedroom whenever she could. It felt like fate. 

Had Luke always been destined to fall from the sky? 

The pair circled around each other as the music was building. It felt like a duel was about to commence, with the way his eyes held a glint of deviant glee. A dangerous edge felt palpable in the space between them, her heart matching the beat of the drum. 

Her hand slipped in his at the right second. He twirled her around with a grin, effortlessly pulling her in his grasp. Her hand tightened around his shoulder as his did around her waist, their conjoined hands close to their chests. It was different then all the other times having him near. Here, music swelled between them. Here, two passions drove her to a pinnacle of joy. Here, his burning gaze felt all the more piercing. 

He got her even closer, cheeks brushing hers as he whispered in her ear. “I haven’t told you yet, but you look stunning tonight. Driving me wild, I think.”

A step between her legs, another whirling motion, a kick to the side, and then back in his arms. Her chin raised, amused. “Trying to woo me, Luke?”

“Seducing.” He smirked. “Though your dress is already doing enough for me.”

The song whistled a pause, her pushing him back with a tease and yelling out a “Ha!” as the music called for it. Everyone began clapping rhythmically, circling back to their partner. Julie, spurred by his words and the heat, purposefully made a show of adding a sway to her hips. She had seen the women in Estrella doing it and it had the desired effect now. His eyes dropped down and came back up, challenged. 

“The dress is indeed very nice,” she simpered over her shoulder. 

Luke coaxed her against him with a tug on her skirt. “Didn’t think I’d be _tempted_ on my own turf by you, Jules,” he teased.

She laughed, breathy and lilting, her mind reeling each time he called her Jules. Standing chest to chest, she had no place she’d rather be - then again, his awaiting performance lingered at the back of her mind. 

They continued dancing for a few more songs until it was time for Luke. The stage wasn’t anything special: a small lifted piece of wooden flooring with just enough space for the musicians to move their hands. Despite this, Luke looked at home. Julie watched how he hugged his friend - Reggie, she assumed - with a bright smile, the bass awkwardly stuck between them. Reggie unearthed an acoustic guitar from behind the stage and handed it to Luke. The crowd murmured in appreciation, making it clear to Julie that Luke was a household name. Cute farm hand by day, pub artist by night. How in the world did she find a way to mesh those? 

Without a word, Luke jumped into an uptempo tune, the other musicians following with ease. This one didn’t have a dance, everyone simply moving and bouncing in the way they pleased. Julie, amidst the masses, stood frozen. 

Finally, she thought. She was finally seeing who Luke truly was. 

Then he opened his mouth to sing and the dam broke. Julie was enraptured. 

Above the crowd’s holler, Luke sang and belted and growled like his life depended on it. Tales of adventure, euphoria, about living in the moment, about making it big and never looking down. That the journey was beautiful, but to have one’s eyes on the prize (which he sang, fixed on her - this boy was going to be the death of her) and reach for the stars. It was unlike anything she has ever heard. 

Right then and there - heart stopping, breath hitching, eyes burning - Julie’s soul knew the only way to deal with this new, undying emotion, all she could do… was dance.

And dancing she did. 

It was as if she were possessed by the Red Shoes, her skirt flaring around her in a blaze with each spin. Kicking and jumping and twirling and letting each note hit her; his voice encompassing. Men and women began to take note, cheering her on. Her wild hair was a beautiful storm, curls flying in every direction with every twist of the body. Every movement equally enthralled as excited her, discovering what her body was made of. Her skin had a sheen of sweat, but then she caught his stare and didn’t feel the need to wipe it off. Luke, though singing, was utterly stupefied. The music began to swell, her hands curling and looping around her face. 

They had each other hypnotised by the simple power of music. She felt mesmerising.

He was singing. She was dancing. It was an old tale parents warned their children about. 

The song hit its final peak and then ended. The crowd roared into loud applause for the beautiful stranger and their regular artist. Julie snapped out of her trance, saw how Luke accepted a metal can filled with coins, thrusted it into Reggie’s hands and jumped off stage. She had no time to prepare, the congratulating words barely on her tongue, when he pulled her flush against him and crashed his lips on hers. 

It was heavier than any kiss they’ve shared and she _loved_ it. The taste of performing clung to his mouth, so addictive all else vanished around her. “You were amazing,” she exhaled, foreheads pressed together. 

“And you’re-” He puffed, fingers going up and down her sleeves rapidly. “-Jules, you were ravishing. Who taught you to dance like that?”

“No one.” Another hungry kiss. “That’s what your voice does to me.”

He grinned, dazed. “And you’re the one saying my ego’s too big. You’re feeding it.”

She smiled. “For once, you _actually_ deserve it.”

His mouth opened and closed again, hesitating. She pulled back a little, raising her brows expectantly. In the end, he shook his head and matched her expression. 

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

(His last words, “I’ll miss you”, whispered in her ear, left her grinning long after she had gone to sleep.)

Sneaking out to go to Georgie’s Tavern became commonplace. Almost every night did she pull on Flynn’s dress and find Luke waiting for her at the oak tree. He’d sing and she’d dance the world away. After only a full week did the regulars start recognising her and pushing her onto tables to dance. Propelled by their encouragement and the energetic music, Julie found a third passion. 

A _lucrative_ passion. A wide-eyed Julie had five gold coins pressed into her palm by a drunk woman in passing, Luke squeezing her side in excitement. She’s never made money before. She always thought her first pay check would come from teaching or writing, but nothing about life has made sense since she met Luke. This new happening almost seemed natural. 

To keep Victoria from becoming suspicious, she didn’t visit Luke during the day a lot. It already got her in hot water whenever she was late for supper (fallen asleep in the orchard) or had circles under her eyes (from Georgie’s) - no need to give her aunt a direct trail to the cause. 

But whenever tía went for errands in town or for tea with her neighbour Esmée, Julie couldn’t keep herself from crawling with Luke into the warm attic of the barn. Laying side by side and with hay-clotted hair, Julie kissed each silly joke he made. 

“Hey,” she whispered. His fingers were exploring the lines on her palms, brushing past knuckles and veins as if to memorise the atoms of which she was made. Every touch of his always felt so intentional that she almost forgot why she started talking. “What is snow like?”

He slipped up to her shoulder, circling the skin. “Hm?”

She shifted closer. “I’ve never seen the snow. What’s it like?”

His eyes met her, pensive. Motioning her to put her head on his chest, he wrapped his arms around her. During those rare barn days, she didn’t wear a corset and he could properly embrace her. Then, she pretended time stood still. 

“Cold,” he eventually said. “Really cold. Like it hurts when you touch it. People in Carámbano are used to it though.”

That surprised her. “Really? Is it like when you burn yourself?”

“I guess. A little different.” His nose pressed in her forehead. “Why?”

Her eyes shut in delight. “No reason. I’m just… curious.”

“We haven’t read in a while,” he suddenly quipped. It was so bizarre. Half-sprawled on top of him in the lulling warmth of summer, having his arms around her, his lips puckering against her skin as he spoke, feeling so enormously, wholly, incredibly… 

In love.

“What?”, she choked out. He didn’t notice the way her breath got caught in her throat.

His voice quieted to a timid whisper. “I miss hearin’ you read,” he confessed. “And sing, to be honest.”

She was in love with him. She was in love with him and September was nearing, which meant she’d leave the grounds and be miles and miles and miles away, away from this dreamy make-belief she has crafted for herself. Oh God, she has gone too far in her whimsy. Too far in her ethereal fantasies about adventure and being romanced. Being in love might be one of the biggest adventures of all and she was truly _not_ equipped for it. She was going to Alma University. Julie was going to study English and drown herself in books and meet a handsome gentleman of her status and bring wealth to her family; procure herself a bright future. What was she _thinking?!_ Dancing in pubs wasn’t a life! 

This should’ve been a silly summer romance. How in the world did it come to this?! 

Intellectually, she knew she had to break it off right now. She had to look him in the eyes and tell him they could be no longer. It wouldn’t be hard. It was just words with harsh connotations and a lasting impact and… it would hurt. For both of them. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t _want_ to. It was her fault to start the dream, now she should finish it as well - even if it would bring her the most heartache. 

(Stupid. _Of course,_ she’d fall for the farm hand. Of course. Maybe this whole summer was a farce after all.) 

“Julie?”

“Yes,” she breathed, keeping her eyes closed in fear he’d see the sorrow. “Dickens or Keats?”

Emotionally, she knew that she asked him about the snow, because she wanted to know _everything_ about him. Didn’t matter that he fled his province. Julie was in love with him - with all of him. What would it be like the experience snow for the first time with him? Would he laugh at her awe? Would he touch the snow to scare her? Probably both. A smile involuntarily tugged on her lips. 

“Hmm…” With a huff, he fully pulled her on top of him. Julie squeaked, eyes cracking open in surprise at the sudden change. His hands laid flat on her back, thumbs stroking the fabric and grinning at her like a goof. If she wasn’t dazed from her revelation, she’d blush at the intimacy of his action. That grin had her eyes rolling however, snatching a clump of hay and throwing it in his face. 

“You think you’re such a charmer!”

Luke laughed. “I do! And it’s working!”

Julie giggled, wiping the straw from his eyes and pecking his nose. “So?”

His smile mellowed, a fondness found within the beautiful green that rendered her to melt in his embrace. _I’m in love with you._ “Keats,” he muttered. “Dickens is kinda depressing.”

_“I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again - my Life seems to stop there - I see no further. You have absorbed me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving. I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it - I shudder no more. I could be martyr'd for my Religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that. I could die for you. My creed is Love and you are its only tenet. You have ravished me away by a Power I cannot resist.”_

Julie looked up from her place in the book, hesitant, and caught his expression. It was a mistake. Keats was indeed not depressing - it was worse. Love described in the most compelling, yet clear way, in ways she never quite understood until now. Until Luke stared back at her, wide-eyed and with a hint of fear. Did he know? Did he feel it too? It had only been twenty-four hours since he proposed to read Keats and it already seemed like a lifetime ago. The clock went so slow and so fast all at once.

His hand clenched around his suspender. “Keep going,” he encouraged with a pressed smile. “It’s sweet.”

Something happened after she read the poems of Keats. Both knew, somehow, that there was something ominous looming in the near distance. Neither questioned it; not aloud at least. He sang louder, she danced harder, they kissed until they were out of breath. Both woke up before the sunrise to see each other and, if they were lucky, watch it together. It only happened once - Victoria was an early riser - but it was unforgettable. Fingers locked while standing in the dewy meadow, the hems of their clothes wet, they watched the world awaken around them. It had been brief. It felt like a beginning, middle and end. 

Or another instance, was when they drew portraits of each other as Victoria was out plucking oranges on the Wilson farm. He kissed her a little longer when she gave him his drawing. The charcoal sketch was an… abstract rendition, but he told her that he loved it and in a way, it felt like it was about _her_ too. Hers, rough lines and details only he would see, was kept hidden in her jewellery box.

A kind, burly man helped her off the table at Georgie’s Tavern, boots falling on the floor as a tin can filled with coins was pressed in her grasp. Her hand cupped around her lips. “Amazing, Reggie!”

The bassist blew a kiss and threw her a wink. Though she didn’t often talk with Luke’s friends, they were kind to her in the limited interactions that they had. Reggie was usually wrapped around a girl, Alex occupied at the bar or dancing with his beau, Willie. Julie caught the kiss with a giggle and patted against her chest. Flynn has been a godsend, lending her more dresses to wear and keep up the illusion. She found that the oxblood colour suited her more than the navy, her skin richer and her eyes brighter. The crowd seemed to think so as well, she noted, double the coins jingling in the can.

Luke slipped in from behind her, kissing her sweaty cheek. “What’re you gonna do with all the money?”

It was said before she wanted to. “Save it for university, probably.”

Their bodies froze when the damned words were uttered. They never mentioned university. She told him, once at the beginning of summer, and that was it. It was a fact both preferred to omit and now she had to blab her mouth. She blamed the adrenaline. 

Luke sighed, his head dropping on her shoulder. A couple tinged with sadness amongst the joy of living - what a sight. 

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered. She caught it though.

She gulped, her eyes fixed on the money. “I will go.”

He nodded. “I know. Think I’ve, uh, grown fond of you.”

Fond. Was that love? Was that enough for her to throw away the plans her family had for her? To study English _and_ dance _and_ sing without fear of getting whisked away by a strange man _and_ love Luke, unconditionally. Was that possible? Was fondness enough? Could it be measured, fondness? Was any of what she was feeling even valuable when a safe life was for those with more than a coin-filled tin? 

Luke knew this too. He wasn’t dumb. She wished she could tell him she didn’t care about any of it. Julie was seventeen and in love, however, and by her logic, not spouting those scary thoughts was better. 

Swallowing back the tears, Julie’s back pressed into his chest. “I’ve grown fond of you too.”

It was that night that kissing wasn’t sufficient, no matter how hard or passionate they tried. She began to miss him while he was in her arms. His sunkissed skin that smelled like hay and peaches and _him,_ his soft hair, his grin - always so full, like he’d refuse to ever not make the most of a laugh.

Their breaths mingled when he pulled back, the dark corner of Georgie’s becoming a regular spot. She chased after him, stretching herself to his height and whispering something about want and need and _fondness_ and that she wanted him. She wanted him. 

Julie Molina has broken so many rules this summer that she was pretty sure she wasn’t the same person anymore. What was one more rule? Who would fault her? 

They snuck in the way she always went out, scaling the ivy up to her ajar bedroom window. It must’ve looked silly, but all she could think about in that moment was wanting to be close to him. They landed in her room with a soft thud and waited ten seconds for potential stumbling down the hallway.

And when nothing happened, Luke dove for her body and never let go. 

“I dreamed about this,” she whispered reverently. 

A moan rumbled from his throat as his lips left warm kisses on her neck. “Me too.”

She woke up with the heavy weight of Luke’s arms wrapped around her. It hadn’t been a fantasy. They _did_ share an intimate moment together and she _did_ fall asleep burrowed in his embrace. He was warm and soft and strong and safe. Her sleepy eyes traced the planes of his chest, the skin she pressed her fingers into without shame. She tried turning around to face him, but maybe it was better he didn’t see her smile. He’d tease her forever if he did. 

Her smile was enamoured. _Let's sleep together forever._

She placed a soft kiss on his shoulder, his arms tightening around her just like that. That silly smile of hers didn’t waver and snuggled deeper into his frame instead. 

His nose trailed from the crook of her neck to her jaw. He sighed deeply. She turned around anyway. A difficult task on her twin bed, but they made it work. His fingers made shapes on her silhouette - stars, circles, crescent moons, hearts. Neither said anything. His thumb pressed down on her hipbone. 

“Do you regret it?” His voice was hoarse from sleep, boyish yet low. 

Her hand grabbed his, curls dancing against the pillow. “No,” she smiled. “I mean, you did-?”  
  
“Yeah,” he nodded quickly. “I did. No worries.”

“Good,” she breathed. Their eyes locked again, her hipbone warming up from their tangled hands. Slowly, her expression from before bloomed on her lips - abrupt and unabashed. She couldn’t help it. She loved, loved, loved him. 

Luke was rendered speechless. Awed, he closed the small gap and pressed his forehead against hers with an incredulous chuckle. A warm hand cupped her cheek as he whispered: “The sun would steal that smile if she could, Jules.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, the feeling he gave her so overwhelming that it almost felt like she was going mad. 

“Luke,” she stammered, “I-”

“Mija? Are you awake? Can I come in?”

Luke flung himself from her bed at lightning speed, terror struck in his body as he scrambled to get away. Julie, quick on her feet and with a hammering heart, pushed him inside her wardrobe and threw his clothes along with it. 

“Mija?”

“A second!” Quietly closing the wardrobe while pressing a finger on her lips, Luke disappeared. Then, she quickly shrugged on the chemise she never got around to wearing and opened the bedroom door as inconspicuously as possible. 

A peering Victoria stood on the threshold. “What took you so long?”

“Nothing,” she grinned, far too chipper. Levelling her voice, she continued. “Just… off in my daydreams. Like always.”

The excuse was received with an unfazed look and walked past her. With wide eyes, she watched as tía sat on the edge of her bed. Could she sense it? That she did it? That he was here? Oh God, could she smell it? Right as her spiral of fright began, Victoria said something that would rattle her far worse. 

“Your father sent us a letter. He’s asked me to keep your prosperous dowry safe as you’ll be attending university here. It’ll arrive in a couple of days.”

Her erratic heartbeat stopped short. The cursed word left her in a sputter. “D-dowry?”

“Mija, you know we’re all very proud of you for continuing your studies, but you’ll still be getting married.” Her smile turned playful, as if imparting a secret. “I’m sure you’ll meet a dashing young man in your classes. What is it you enjoy reading so much? Keaton?”

“Keats,” she uttered lamely. 

She snapped her fingers. “That was it. I just wanted to let you know and that you should start looking at your options. No man wants to wed an old crone shackled to a desk reading.”

Her lower lip wobbled, eyes shining with unshed tears. Her shaky inhale made tía frown. “Yes… no man would want that.”

Her lips tutted, standing up to give her niece a hug. “No need for such emotions, mija. You’re a diamond. Any man will in love with you the moment they see you.”

Her thin smile was enough to appease her aunt. “Thank you, tía. May I get dressed?”

When the door shut again, Julie sunk on her bed, numb. Her slumped back was faced with Luke quietly reappearing, dressing himself in silence. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t see hurt, shame, anger, heartache; couldn’t let him see the same. Apologies were lodged in her throat. Where to even begin, with such apologies. It was obsolete. They messed up. He claimed she rivalled the sun. She was in love with him. 

He stilled in front of her window. “A dowry. So, you’re… rich. Not just here on a scholarship, but rich. You’re rich.”

She stared at his wrinkled clothes. “My father may… be a politician in Estrella.”

Luke groaned, head rolling back and scrubbing his face with the palms of his hand. It was angry. Julie gulped. He was angry. She should’ve told him. She shouldn’t have fallen in love. Springing upright, she grabbed onto his arm. 

“But,” she gulped. The pained look he shot her slammed into her chest. It was a challenge, she realised. Another game of theirs, only this time, it actually meant something. “But,” she pressed, clenching her jaw. “I don’t care about that. About _any_ of that.”

“Jules, uh, I don’t think… that matters.” His brows knitted together. His words were too simple to make sense. “I play in pubs and pluck peaches and tend to Delia, you will study and… meet someone else. I had been hoping you weren’t-” He paused, pushing her hand away. “-as rich as you were. That I had a shot.” A bitter laugh spurred from his lips. Julie felt the ground disappear beneath her feet. “I should’ve known better. It’s my mistake. I’m sorry for-”

 _“Don’t_ finish that sentence,” she interrupted, stern. Now it was her turn to be angry. “It’s not fair. Our status, my dowry, my father - that shouldn’t dictate anything. Don’t apologise for making me happy, you’ll only make me look like a fool.” A tear spilled down her cheek, his shoulders slackening at the sight. His hands twitched. If her heart was going to break, it was going to happen on her own terms. 

“You do have a shot,” she whimpered. Her trembling fingers found solace on his skin, caressing his jaw. “I see life in your eyes. All I see is the burning desire to live. If I’m the sun, than you’re everything else. That’s what I see when I look at you, Luke.” And then, the final strike. “I love you.”

Julie Molina was seventeen and in love and clueless, with a wild imagination and an insatiable curiosity. She should thank Love and Soul for sending Luke on her path, because wow - he was the exact same. 

His lips found hers with a passion she was all too familiar with. Her fingers slipped into his hair, his gentle touch on her waist. His grin could light up an entire city. 

“I love you too, Jules,” he mumbled like a prayer, combing her hair out of her face as if she’d even think of missing a second of this very moment. Euphoria burst inside of her in every colour of the rainbow, golden light glowing from her being (or string, crawling and looping and whirling around his own, holding their souls taut together) as they stayed locked in embrace. 

Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “You love me?” 

“I’ve loved you since…” He blinked, staring down at her as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I don’t know, really. It kind of just happened.”

She laughed, quiet, as to not alert tía. “Yeah,” her stifling giggle uttered. “It kind of just happened.”

His lip twitched. “What d’you wanna do? Kinda ruined my flow with breaking things up.”

“You,” she swatted his shoulder, “are an absolute idiot.”

“I am.”

“But I am too,” she declared. “Kind of. Not on your level, but-”

He gave her a look, retracting his hands. “Julie.”

“I’m getting there!” Excitedly, she slung her arms around his shoulders. How she was still standing after a whirlwind of constantly shifting emotions, she had no clue, but all she could think about was that he loved her. Luke loved her. A summer was enough. “Luke, what if I told you I got the English scholarship because I’m an excellent debater?”

His expression shifted to one of giddy mischief, catching on. “I would say I believe you.”

“And that my beloved father, is not.”

“I’d believe that too.”

“Then I’ll make sure to reason with him when the time comes.” Her head tilted, playful. “As long as you’ll continue to love me, that is. Do we have a deal?”

The boy shook his head in disbelief, noses brushing and pecking the grin off her face. “You got yourself a deal, Jules.” That infamous smirk etched his cheeks. (She felt it. The tug. The way it told her the rhythm of her heart would be forever changed.) “I love you.”

She giggled. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“I’m trying it out,” he retorted, as if it was commonplace. “I love you.”

She pushed his chin away, a blush creeping up her cheekbones. “Go,” she teased. “Before Victoria notices.”

“Ah, yes,” he sighed. “Miss Victoria. Should probably start…” Trailing off, Luke kissed her again. 

Another push, weaker this time. Luke was more intoxicating than the sweet red wine at Christmas. “Working,” she put, frank. He nodded, opening her window and putting a foot on her sill. 

“And Luke,” she added, right as he was about to descend. Green crossed brown. Sea glass green was her favourite colour. She smiled. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

Her final day was spend at Jubilee Lake. This time, not just her and Luke. He invited Alex, Reggie and Willie. She invited Flynn. It turned out upon arrival that Reggie had been Coffee House Guy and both were overjoyed seeing each other again. Julie had never seen Flynn so timid. She supposed it was kind of a reward after doing all those chores at school. 

They talked about everything under the sun. Life and music and Georgie’s Tavern and Flynn’s hilarious anecdotes and Alex’ disgruntlement with annoying drunks and Willie’s flourishing career as an artist. About university, English, Keats and Whitman and dancing and all of Luke’s new songs. About why Reggie was outside Nina’s atelier in the first place. 

(“What?” He shrugged. “I appreciate the finer arts. Such as... Parisian fashion. Sue me!”)

As the sun dropped below the trees and the sky was smeared in pinks and oranges, the group jumped into the lake with whoops and squeals. If Luke and Julie thought their fight had been hard, neither were ready for the full on way that was about to commence. By the ten minute mark, all drew their white flags as a victorious Willie cheered. 

When the stars replaced the watercolour sky, the teens drunk on raspberry cordial and peach pie, Julie felt it. The weight that had been there since she was thirteen drifting into the campfire. Grabbing onto the hand of her boyfriend and letting the glee spill from her lips, she finally did something worthwhile. 

Julie sang.

***

_Allons! the road is before us!  
_ _It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d!_

 _Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d!  
_ _Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d!  
_ _Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!  
_ _Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law._

 _Camerado, I give you my hand!  
_ _I give you my love more precious than money,  
_ I give you myself before preaching or law;  
 _Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?  
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?_

_\- Song Of The Open Road, Walt Whitman_

**Author's Note:**

> Picture this: Little Ophelia, about eleven years old, gets taken to an "alternative" festival by her parents (essentially days of jazz, reggaeton, central-African and Latin music) to expand my taste in music. Why my older brother was excluded from the activity and could listen to his dubstep in peace, I still don't know. It was one of the best days of my life though. Amidst the weed-smokers and white people with dreads, I gawked with wonder how Gregory Porter's smooth bass voice made my body tremble. My life was forever changed watching that jazz god perform and he should therefore be included in every fic possible. 
> 
> I'm telling all of this to say that Julie sang "Revival Song" by Gregory Porter. I'm also saying that he will be included again in the upcoming fic that I halted to write this. Anyway - stream Gregory Porter.
> 
> I'm also very much aware "Peter Pan" wasn't published yet in 1895. And I don't care lol. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
